The Case of Carl Powers
by gopadfoot
Summary: When Sherlock was young, he was bothered by the case of a drowned boy. He wanted to tell his big brother about it, but he didn't. Years later, both brothers would come to regret that.


_I should tell him about it,_ eleven year-old Sherlock thought to himself. Mycroft was the smartest person Sherlock knew, much smarter than him, even. In fact, he had to be one of the smartest people in the world. He was in awe of his big brother, even if he resented the fact that he himself always looked stupid by comparison.

Sherlock had been obsessing over the Carl Powers case for several weeks now. He had even gone down to the police station and stated his case, and was laughed out of there for his efforts. "Trying to play at detective, eh, kid?" the Sergeant had said patronizingly. "Perhaps you should wait until you're a bit older. It's not as easy as you think it is."

Sherlock was still burning with humiliation and anger. When he had tried to talk to Mummy, she wanted to talk to him about _feelings._ "I know it's very scary to hear something like that happen to a kid around your age. It's natural to wonder about it, and try to find reasons for it. Talking about it can help, dear. I'm always here if you'd like to, Sherlock."

The budding detective had shaken his head in disgust and stomped away. No one wanted to take him seriously. So what if he was a kid? He was smarter than the lot of them combined, and then some.

Mycroft would be coming home from Uni soon, for the holiday break. If he presented his case well, Mycroft would believe him. He would understand. He might even try to help him. At eighteen, Mycroft was a real adult, and he knew how to talk to people, to get them to cooperate.

But, on the off chance that Sherlock's deductions weren't on target, or there was something glaringly obvious he had missed, Mycroft would make him feel stupid again. He might even laugh at him. Sherlock had suffered enough humiliation over this case so far. So when Mycroft came home, Sherlock didn't say a word.

* * *

When Mycroft came home from Uni, he noticed that Sherlock was unusually subdued. Mummy pulled him over one night to discuss her concerns. "It started with the news of a kid that drowned," she said, her brows creasing in concern. "I think that hearing about a kid's death affected him. He might have ever fears of dying suddenly, or something happening to those around him." She looked at him significantly. They were both thinking the same thing, though they wouldn't mention it aloud: _Redbeard._

"Hmmm, I don't know," Mycroft said, deep in thought. "Perhaps there was, indeed, something about the case that grabbed his attention. He does have deductive abilities that surpass most of the police force. On the other hand..." Now Mycroft was the one to give his mother a significant look.

"You think he's starting to remember?" Mildred whispered. "It was a drowning..."

"Was it? That's pretty significant. I don't think he's aware of what he's doing at a conscious level, but there must be something there in his subconscious that's contributing to this."

"What should we do?" his mother asked anxiously.

"Nothing... there's no use in forcing the traumatic memories to the surface. Remember, he was the one that buried them himself. There's no way to tell what might happen if you force it. I will, however, try to find out in a roundabout way. My gut feeling is that it's just a phase that he's going through, and he will soon turn his attentions elsewhere."

True to his word, Mycroft tried. He repeated the story of the East Windows that night, teasing his brother about being swept away by the wind, while carefully watching for a reaction. All Sherlock said was, "I'm too old for stupid ghost stories, Mycroft."

"Tell me, do you remember Redbeard?" Mycroft asked him suddenly.

"I don't care about that stupid dog," Sherlock said sulking.

Mycroft thought about asking him about the Carl Powers case. He wondered if Sherlock had truly found a clue that others had missed. Bringing it up, however, might make Sherlock obsess over it even more. Then he might start remembering other things... things he might not be ready to deal with just yet.

Mycroft didn't say a word.

* * *

Years later, the case of Carl Powers was finally solved, by none other than the little boy who had seen what no one else had.

The murderer was now a consulting criminal who could ruin entire countries with the ease he had once ruined a little boy.

Mycroft and Sherlock collaborated to bring him down, for once working together with mutual cooperation. The price of Moriarty's destruction would be high, and would involve the breaking up of many peaceful lives. Yet it would be done, had to be done, for their was no other choice.

Both brothers silently wondered what would have happened had they not kept their silence that day.


End file.
